5 Windy City Hunter (10 page)

With one minute to spare, Darby placed his last cake on the table for sampling. My stomach was in knots. It looked like we wouldn’t finish all three in time, but Darby stayed focused, worked meticulously, and turned out three perfect cakes. Any one of them could have been given to the judges.

Back at our station, Craig and Bonnie were waiting for us with a bottle of non-alcoholic Sparkling Cold Duck and four glasses.

“Where’s Dee?” Darby asked.

“Craig and I don’t have any idea,” Bonnie said. “Her cake and icin’ are still sittin’ there.”

“She left almost two hours ago,” I said. “She said she was going out to get some fresh air, but she never came back.”

“Well,” Craig said cheerfully, “here’s to the four of us. May the best man win. No offense, Bonnie.”

We all laughed, and Bonnie said, “None taken. You’ll be surprised when my Tennessee Pecan Pie wins the dessert category and The Grand Prize. I did my research, and a pie has won The Grand Prize six out of the last ten years.”

“Ah, yes,” said Craig, “but most of the judges this year are women, and they won’t be able to resist the spell of my Pink Squirrel Cake.”

Darby laughed and said, “You’re both wrong. The judges will appreciate that my cake isn’t too sweet. Instead of milk, they’ll want a cup of coffee, and that, my friends, is what will put me over the top.”

The smile on Craig’s face disappeared. It was obvious he thought Darby made some good points, and he was now worried about winning.

“I think all of you did a great job,” I said. “No matter who wins, it was really nice meeting the two of you.”

“Excuse me,” said a woman behind me.

It was Irene, the woman with the clipboard who had helped Bonnie move her station last night. There were two police officers behind her. We all simply stared at the three of them.

“Delma Snider had an accident earlier today,” she said.

All three of us made noises of concern.

“For some reason, she left the competition and walked outside into traffic,” she said. “She was hit by a car and has been taken to Northwestern Memorial Hospital.”

“Is she goin’ to be all right?” asked Bonnie. She was nearly in tears.

“We don’t have much information,” Irene said. “She’s still in surgery, and she’s listed as critical. This is Officer Clark and Officer Simpson. They’d like to ask you some questions, if that’s ok with you.”

We all agreed.

I had thoughts racing through my mind. Was Dee sick when she left? Surely she wasn’t feeling drunk from a shot or two of rum. Maybe she had been drinking earlier, too. Was Wes following her? Is that why he was here? I didn’t see him again after I spotted him on the way to the restroom. He seemed to disappear when Dee did. Could she have been running from him? A worse thought popped into my head. Could he have pushed her into traffic?

“Susan?” Darby asked.

I hadn’t been paying attention and felt foolish as I said, “I’m sorry. What was the question again?”

Officer Clark asked, “Do you know why Delma left the building?”

“She told me she wasn’t feeling well, and she was a little dizzy,” I said. “She thought it might be from some rum she drank. She said she was going out for a little fresh air and would be right back. She asked me to take her cake out of the oven when the buzzer went off if she wasn’t here.”

“Did you?” Irene asked.

“I did,” I said. “If I didn’t, I was afraid it would burn, and then we’d be dealing with smoke over here.”

“Have any of you touched anything else where she was cooking?” Officer Simpson asked.

Three of us said no, but Darby was looking her things over and said, “The little cap there is mine. Dee borrowed my vanilla, but accidentally dropped it into the gap between our stations. I haven’t touched anything, but my fingerprints will be on that cap.”

Officer Clark smiled and said, “We won’t be looking for fingerprints, sir. We’re only going to preserve this as a crime scene until we find out for certain what happened. Can any of you think of anything else that might be useful to us?”

We all shook our heads no, and the officers told us we could go. They started taking an inventory of Dee’s things while the four of us cleaned up our stations, packed our belongings, and left the room together. The news about Dee had left a somber atmosphere hanging over us.

“We have a couple of hours before we have to be back for the awards ceremony,” Craig said. “Do you want to have dinner here in the hotel? There’s no reason to go out and then have to find parking again.”

“That’s sounds great,” Darby said. “Susan, is that ok with you?”

“Yep. I’m starving,” I said. “Bonnie, are you coming?”

“No,” she said slowly. “My sister will be here any time now. She’ll be here for the awards ceremony, and we’re going to spend a couple of days in the city to catch up and do some shoppin’. I think I’ll go up to my room, order room service, and wait for her. Thanks though. Y’all have fun, and I’ll see you later.”

She turned and walked toward the elevators, while we headed in the opposite direction toward the front desk. The restaurant was situated off the lobby. As we rounded the corner, Darby said, “Wow! It’s really coming down now.”

It was, and the wind was blowing hard. Snow was starting to pile up in drifts against the windows on either side of the lobby doors. I was glad we weren’t going anywhere for a while.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

“And the first-place winner, with her Sherried Veal Casserole, is Wendy Walton!”

The winning announcement in the main dish category was finally made. I was restless. The awards ceremony was taking longer than I expected. After each announcement, pictures were taken of the winner with their winning ribbon and oversized, fake check for $10,000. I was worried I would need to use the restroom, and Darby would be announced as the winner while I was gone.

Dinner with Craig in the hotel restaurant had been enjoyable. We talked about our jobs and shared more with each other about our lives. I was surprised to learn Craig was an art graduate and quite skilled at painting. He was far from a starving artist. When he was a teenager, he had a knack for copying famous artworks, and it was the reason his parents agreed to an art degree rather than a business major in college. I was excited to see his gallery showing tomorrow.

We chatted about the contest. Craig had made the rounds more than we did, and he had learned personal details from many of the contestants. It had to be his friendly nature. He was the kind of person who was easy to talk to. He told us Dee had recently taken in her three-year-old grandson. She wanted to win the contest for the money to help raise him. If she didn’t survive the accident today, he was guessing the boy would end up in foster care.

He found out Bonnie had some hardships in her own life. She used to live in a small neighborhood in Tennessee that was taken over by eminent domain for a shopping mall and surrounding office buildings. The house had been in her family for over one hundred years, and she was angry at everyone involved. She was hoping to win the contest to have enough money to move away and start over.

“Bonnie Montgomery from Elton Tennessee!”

“Darby! What? What did she win?” I asked hurriedly as I banged on his arm. “I wasn’t paying attention. What did she win?”

“Second place,” he said. “That’s two pies in a row. I don’t feel good about this, Susan.”

“No, no, this is good,” I said. “All of the other places don’t mean a thing. You don’t want second or third. You want first. Don’t give up now”

I held onto his arm and let out a little squeal of excitement. I could feel it. He was going to win this.

It was time for the announcement for first place in desserts. As the committee members stepped to the microphone, I saw several police officers enter through a side door. They were being led by Detective Malloy from Chicago homicide. He was the man in charge of Mrs. Fisher’s murder. What was he doing here?

My attention was taken away from Detective Malloy by the announcement.

“And the first place winner, with Grandmother’s Buttercream Coffee Cake, is Darby Tapley from Carbide City, Ohio!”

We jumped up at the same time. I squealed, threw my arms around his neck, and gave him a big hug. I rushed with him to the front of the room, but I knelt down in front of the platform to take pictures of him accepting his ribbon and his check.

I could feel tears welling up in my eyes, and I couldn’t hold back a few as they slid down my cheeks. I was proud of him. He was my best friend, and I loved him as if he were my brother. His grandmother would be so proud of him.

As he came down from the platform, the smile on his face said it all.

“Darby Tapley,” Detective Malloy said with authority. He was now standing beside us.

Darby turned to face him and said, “Yes, we met the other day.”

“Darby Tapley, you’re under arrest for the murder of Penelope Fisher.”

A collective gasp went up from the crowd.

A police officer put handcuffs on Darby. I couldn’t believe he didn’t say anything. He simply stood quietly with his arms behind his back.

I unleashed on Detective Malloy. “What are you doing? You know full well we just arrived when Mrs. Fisher was found murdered. There’s no way Darby could have killed her. This is an illegal arrest!”

“Susan Hunter,” the detective said firmly, “you’re coming with us, too. We have some questions for you.”

“Susan Raines. My name is Susan Raines.” My throat had tightened, and the words barely came out.

Darby was pushed ahead of me. He turned his head and called over his shoulder, “Susan, don’t call Mick or Nate. Call Detective Bentley. He’ll know what to do.” He couldn’t see me, but all I could do was nod my head as two officers took him in one direction with Detective Malloy, and I was escorted toward another door by two other officers.

I felt like I was going to throw up. My stomach was in knots, and my chest was tight. This couldn’t be good for the baby. Tears ran down my cheeks. Bonnie, Craig, and a woman who I assumed was Bonnie’s sister, were standing off to the side of the room together. They all looked shocked.

The officers allowed me to get my coat. Darby had run our personal items from the cooking contest out to the car earlier, so they were safe, and I didn’t have to worry about them. The only items being left behind at the hotel were Darby’s first place blue ribbon and an oversized $10,000 check.

On the ride to the police station, I kept telling myself this had to be a mistake. Wes was the one who had treated Darby suspiciously, and that was only because Uncle Jack had told Darby so much about Mrs. Fisher. But there was something wrong with the entire picture back at the hotel. Why didn’t Darby argue? Why didn’t he proclaim his innocence? I knew he couldn’t have committed the murder, so why didn’t he defend himself? And now he wanted me to call Detective Bentley with the Carbide City Police Department back home.

I didn’t know if I would be allowed to have my purse at the police station. I rummaged through it to find my small address book with phone numbers. It was outdated to carry an address book, but I was always afraid of being in trouble somewhere with a dead phone and no way to look up numbers.

I tore out the page with Detective Bentley’s personal and business numbers and shoved it into my coat pocket. I looked through my wallet, found the slip of paper with Mick’s number in England, and shoved it into the pocket, too. Darby didn’t want me to call Mick, and I could only assume he didn’t want me to upset him when there was nothing he could do so far from home, but I didn’t think leaving Mick out of something this horrible was a good idea.

At the police station, I was ushered into a well-lit room with a table and several upholstered chairs. It wasn’t like an interrogation room on television. This room felt more like a small waiting room. I removed my coat and draped it over the back of one of the chairs. I sat down at the table and pulled my phone from my purse. The signal was weak, but I had to try to call Detective Bentley.

Chuck Bentley always made me nervous. He had a strange sense of humor, which bordered on being a smart aleck. He and Mick had become good friends, and I was trying to be more comfortable around him, but it was still hard for me to call him Chuck.

Considering it was after work hours in Ohio, I dialed his personal number first.

He answered on the first ring, “Bentley.”

I struggled to get my words out. Tears were near the surface again. “Chuck? This is Susan Raines.”

He didn’t say anything.

“Susan Hunter,” I said, thinking maybe he couldn’t place me right away.

“I know who you are, Susan,” he said. I swear, I could hear the smile in his voice, and knew he was already teasing me. “What can I do for you? Are you in trouble again?”

There was the smart aleck. He didn’t even know what I wanted, and he assumed I was in trouble.

“Chuck,” I said again, and then I had to stop talking. The tears were coming now.

“Susan,” he said sharply. “Really, are you in trouble? What’s wrong? Is Mick with you?”